The Smell of Basketballs, Expensive Perfume, and Tears
by thesociallyawkwardtwins
Summary: High School AU- Katniss is beginning her sophomore year of high school, and life is not awesome. She thought maybe she could skate by this year, but then she ran into Glimmer, the showchoir's star singer, and now Katniss has been promised her undoing. Plus, getting roped into managing a basketball team, trying to "brawl" academically, and trying to cope with Gale graduating...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Soooooo for those of you who read this chapter as an update on my Collection of Stuff fanfic: Shirls and I have decided to continue writing this! It was way too interesting to abandon! Hopefully you enjoy it was well! _

_For those of you who have just stumbled on this: Enjoy! Hopefully you find our take on the "modern high school AU" to be interesting and unique!_

* * *

_Chapter 1: Some Things Just Don't Leave You _

* * *

"If there's one thing I hate more than anything else in this world, it's humidity," I say, lying down on the concrete driveway.

Gale laughs and shoots another free throw, which swishes straight through the basket like magic.

"I don't know how you stand it," I say, squeezing my eyes shut against the baking sunlight. I can practically feel the sunrays radiating off the cement around me. "How can you possibly _exercise_ in this heat?"

"It's a little something called dedication, my friend," he replies, making yet another shot into the basketball hoop. "Basketball conditioning starts less than a month after school starts, and I don't plan on being an out of shape blob when that day rolls around."

Posy plops down on the driveway next to me, dragging her little bucket of chalk pieces behind her, and, without warning, pokes me in the stomach. "Is Catnip an out of shape blob, Gale?" she asks. "She's squishy."

Gale lets out a huge laugh and grins genuinely at my expense. "Katniss _is_ an out of shape blob."

"Come on! I am not!" I insist, but as soon as I hear Posy's little giggle, I let it drop. Besides, it's mostly true. I don't play any sports, unless you count archery or show choir, but I've only shot a bow a couple of times after my father's death and show choir's basically my version of hell on earth, so I don't give either activity much credit in any category. "Okay, fine, maybe I am. Just a little bit."

Posy giggles again and starts tracing an outline around my sprawled body with her pink chalk. I lay there a second so that she can finish, and then I roll over sideways onto my stomach so that she can color in the outline.

I shade my eyes from the sun and watch as Gale makes yet another basket.

"How many have you made?" I ask.

"A lot," he replies. _Swish. _

"You don't even count them?" I ask. "What's the point of doing it if you don't get a quantifiable satisfaction?"

Gale rolls his eyes. "It's practice, Katniss. I just make as many as I can."

"I don't know why you bother. You're going to make varsity again this year with absolutely no trouble."

Gale shrugs. "It's not guaranteed."

"Gale, you've made every single basket since we came out here," I say roughly. "You're going to make it."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Catnip."

_Swish. _

Our conversation drops off to an end, and the only sound comes from the chalk scratching across the driveway and the basketball bouncing against the ground. I shut my eyes, just letting the sun bake against my back.

Finally, Posy breaks the silence. "Did Daddy like basketball?"

I cringe, but I don't open my eyes. Gale's basketball stops bouncing.

"Yeah, Pose," Gale says, trying not to let too much slip through in his voice. "Dad loved basketball. He taught me how to play when I was little."

Posy accepts this answer as truth because she doesn't know any better, and I hear the basketball swish through the basket, but it sounds half-hearted.

Some things just don't leave you. For Gale, it's basketball.

* * *

"So…any inside wisdom about sophomore year?"

Gale's sitting next to me on the couch. I'm not really sure how I ended up at Gale's house, but I guess I catch myself thinking that most days. It's like his house and his family have some kind of magnetic pull. Or maybe it's the ghetto-ish feel of my apartment complex that's pushing me away.

"Like can I go in all the bathrooms now without getting called a faggot?" I ask. I had something more intelligent I was going to ask, but it's taking most of my mind power to focus on the video game controls.

I don't even know what game we're playing. Some multiplayer first-person shooter. I'm some young, energetic volunteer, and Gale's my superior. We're in what looks like an abandoned paint factory, and we're mowing down people with our machine guns like our lives depend on it.

Posy's asleep with her head on my lap. The gunfire hasn't woken her up yet, which scares me.

"Did that ever happen to you?" Gale asks. He leans around a corner, and at least five guys hurdle a conveyor belt and run at us.

"On my first day, yeah," I say. I hold down a button on my controller and at least ten bullets in one guy's head. I don't know how many shots are needed to kill. Gale didn't really bother to explain the rules to me.

"Well, you should be fine now," Gale says. Bang. Last guy dead.

"How do people know I'm not a freshman?" I ask. We're sprinting across a field now.

"Maybe you look less pathetic now?" Gale laughs. "Although, you are in show choir now."

"For the last time, I didn't mean to join that class," I say. "I don't know what about my poor dancing and lack of makeup and enthusiasm made them decide I was Royalaire material, but there's no going back now. This is an 'honor.'"

Gale laughs, and I walk straight onto a landmine. My entire screen is filled with flying debris, and then it goes dark. Gale keeps going, forced to complete our mission alone.

I try to move, but Posy's still asleep on my lap. Not even a landmine will wake this child. Someday, this house is going to catch fire, and Posy's going to wake up to a pile of ashes around her because she slept through the fire alarms.

Gale's phone lights up on the coffee table, and as he's still running through the mined field, he's too distracted to answer. He and I have this deal that while he's driving it's my responsibly to check his texts to see if they're important, so I grab the phone out of habit.

"You got a text," I say, unlocking his phone (I still don't think he knows that I know his password).

I check the sender. _Glimmer ;) _

"Who's Glimmer?"

"What?" Gale asks, distracted. _Bang_. Another guy dead.

"Well, she says 'hey,' anyway," I say. "I think she's flirting with you. Should I flirt back?"

"Who are you flirting with?"

"Glimmer. I don't know who she is."

"You're flirting with a girl you don't know?" This distracts him enough to walk into a landmine, and he goes up just like I did. He swears. Posy remains asleep.

"I'm flirting for _you._ Contrary to popular belief, I'm not lesbian."

Gale snatches his phone out of my hand and texts something back. I can't read what he sent; he's too fast.

"Who's she?"

"No one."

Must be another one of Gale's fan girls. One of the many girls he will probably end up dating for a month and then breaking up with. That's just how it works with him. Pretty, blond cheerleader after pretty, blond cheerleader.

I really should be used to it by now.

I don't know what it irks me so much.

* * *

"Prim, Gale and I have pizza," I call from the door of our apartment.

Gale, who is just as comfortable in my home as I am in his, wanders into the kitchen, tosses his keys and iPhone onto the counter, and sets the large, one-topping pizza down on the table. I turn around and slide the deadbolt into place just in case.

See, we don't exactly live in the safest of places. It's not like our apartment building is located in the ghetto, but it's pretty close. We might not have shootings very often, but we do not lack break-ins and drug deals.

"When's your mom getting home," Gale asks as he sets three paper plates out on the table.

I grab my cellphone out of my back pocket and my screen lights up with a new text. _Working late._

That's all it says. No _love you, Katniss. _No _get a good night's sleep. _She doesn't even give an estimated time.

"She's working a double shift tonight," I say, stuffing my phone back into my pocket along with my anger. "She won't be home until late."

Gale nods but doesn't say anything.

Ever since my dad's death four years ago, my mom hasn't been a very loving mother. In fact, she's taken on an almost nonexistent role in my life. Basically, the only thing she's good for is bringing home a pay check and occasionally remembering to pay the bills. Besides that, I can't count on her for much.

She's never really home when I'm home that much anyway, and when she is home in the afternoon, she's sleeping or hiding in her room. I understand that nurses are guaranteed to have some pretty inconvenient schedules, but I think my mother takes an unnecessary amount of shifts during the evening and night hours just so that she doesn't have to deal with me and Prim. Life has just gotten too hard for her to handle, so she works.

Sometimes she goes on binges, too, and drinks enough that she passes out on the kitchen floor. It's almost gotten her fired at least three times, since the last thing a hospital needs is a drunk nurse. She doesn't do it on a regular basis, though. Just around the anniversary of my father's death or his birthday or Christmas or generally any other day that makes her depressed. Needless to say, she takes a lot of unpaid vacations to recover from her depression-induced weekday benders, which doesn't help our financial situation very much…

Prim appears in the kitchen doorway, and my angry thoughts of my mother are cut off. I do my best to smile at my little sister, but I don't think it comes off to well.

"Hey, Primmy," I say.

"Hi," she replies. She has a book tucked under her arm.

We almost drift into a terribly awkward silence as we sit down for pizza, but (thankfully) Gale is the only person that I know who can whip out words for any situation.

"Have you been reading all afternoon?" he asks Prim, nodding towards her book.

"Yeah," she replies, taking a bite of her pepperoni pizza. "There wasn't much else to do after I finished cleaning."

Leave it to my sister to clean the apartment during summer vacation.

For a second, we drop into silence, and the only thing I can hear is the ticking of our clock and the mushy sound of chewing.

Gale saves the conversation once again. "What book are you reading?"

"It's nothing," Prim says, looking down at her lap. "You wouldn't like it. You'd probably think it was boring."

"Tell me about it," Gale says, looking across the table earnestly at her.

And Prim immediately comes out of her shell, describing the book in a way that makes the boring plot seem completely wonderful, and Gale just sits there and listens, asking questions occasionally and nodding. And me—I eat four pieces of pizza and two breadsticks.

It's a wonder Prim doesn't love Gale more than me.

* * *

Gale and I stay up watching game shows until eleven pm because we're both wired from the six cans of Mountain Dew that we drank earlier in the afternoon. We're both half asleep after our fifth episode of The Price Is Right, but Gale is still slow to leave.

"Do you want me to wait until your mom gets home?" he asks.

"No, Gale, it's fine," I reply.

He nods and grabs his keys off the countertop. "Make sure you lock the door behind me."

"_Geez, _Gale, I will," I say, practically slamming the door in his face.

Your apartment gets broken into once, and suddenly you need supervision all the time. That's not how it works in this apartment complex.

* * *

As soon as Gale leaves, a massive party starts up in the apartment to our right. I can feel the bass through the walls, and I can barely make out the sounds of Ke$ha over the rumbling of voices. It won't be long before the smell of weed will force its way through the wall, and some party goer will try to break into out apartment through the fire escape to get more booze, and I'll have to call the cops just like every other weekend.

I'm wondering if there's a place that I can file a complaint about this when my phone lights up on the coffee table.

It's not my mom like I'd hoped. It's just Gale.

_Crazy party next door. You're gonna be up for a while._

_Like usual_, I text back. Somebody cranks up the volume another level, and I'm surprised that Prim hasn't woken up yet.

I get up and bang on the wall a couple times where the bass seems particularly strong. "Turn down your stupid music!" I yell, but I don't think anyone hears or cares.

I have to do that a couple more times before the music goes down a couple decibel levels, and by that point, Haymitch, our drunk neighbor to the left, starts banging on _my_ apartment walls telling _me_ to be quiet.

_Your mom home yet?_ Gale texts back.

_Not yet. _ I send. Then, I add, _Drive safe._

One of these days I'm convinced he's going to get hit by a drunk driver trying to get home after staying here too long.

I fall asleep on the couch, and I don't even wake up when my mom gets home from her shift at five am.

* * *

"Get me a couple reams of lined paper, and I am set," I announce.

My mom decided that we would spend her day off at the office supplies store getting school supplies. It's currently a week left until school, and everything's like seventy percent off (which we can afford).

Seeing as Prim's still a sixth grader, she actually needs school supplies. I've seen kids in high school get by with stealing pencils off the floor and not having a single other item with them. I'm fairly sure that I can make it through the year with lined paper, a couple notebooks, and a pack of number two pencils. I'll spend like five dollars on my supplies, and then Prim can have all the cat-themed, glittery folders she wants.

"Are you sure?" my mom asks. She's leaning on the cart, her hair barely in a ponytail, looking exhausted. I wonder if I look any better.

"Yep," I say.

She looks unconvinced. "Do you need a backpack?"

"My old one's still good." _That is assuming we have safety pins at home for me to keep the pockets shut with._

"What about a calculator?" she asks.

She's got me there. I'm pretty sure it says specifically on the course description that I should have a certain kind of calculator.

Prim throws an armload of gel pens, pink notebooks, and markers into the cart. I pull out my phone and text Gale.

_What kind of calculator would a sophomore in stupid people math class need?_

I wonder why I'm texting him. He has a social life. He's probably doing something right now with his many other friends or at least watching his siblings.

But he actually texts back immediately.

_A scientific calculator?_

_What's that look like?_ I text back. I'm standing in front of an entire display of calculators. They all look like tiny spaceships that I don't know how to control. Where are the dumb four-function ones?

_What do you want me to do? Send you a picture of mine?_

_That would help._

I walk around to the other side of calculator display and run into someone.

"Oh hi, Katniss!"

"Peeta!" I say, surprised. He's looking entirely too tan and entirely too happy, like he's just had the grandest summer. I don't really want to talk to him, but he's got a calculator in his hand that looks right_._

"Where'd you get that?" I ask.

"Over there," he says, gesturing deep into the store. "So did you have a good summer?"

"Yeah, it was great," I say flatly. "You?" I'm already starting to walk away.

"Great," he says, but he sounds deflated. I seem to have that effect on people.

Once I've gotten my calculator, we buy all of our supplies, and I leave the store completely unprepared for sophomore year.

* * *

I spend the rest of the day arguing with my mom about school orientation.

She says she's too tired to go. I say she should probably come. She, like usual, tells me to get a ride from Gale.

So I do.

It'll be just like every other year. Everyone else's parents will be signing forms and writing checks, and I just stand there and watch. No yearbook for me. No school newspaper subscription. No club or sports passes paid. Nothing.

* * *

The counselor at the schedule station looks a little bit concerned that I don't have a parent or guardian with me, but she still hands over my papers. There's a sheet with my locker number and combination, and then there's my schedule.

_Period 1: Physics I (Mr. Shewry)_

_Period 2: English 10 Honors (Mrs. Ettinger)_

_Period 3: Spanish IV (Senora Shaffer)_

_Period 4: Geography (Mr. Raff)_

_Period 5: Algebra II (Mr. McGann)_

_Period 6: Lady's Show Choir (Mrs. Finkel)_

_Period 7: Study Hall (Rm 110)_

I haven't heard many opinions on any of the teachers I've been assigned to (expect Mrs. Finkel who I had last year and want to murder violently), but I can only assume that this year will be as much of a struggle as last year.

I fold my schedule up and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans, and then I wander over to picture line. All around, there are girls fixing hairdos, checking makeup, and adjusting clothing. And then there's me. I'm just wearing a black t-shirt that I found on my bedroom floor.

"Hey, Catnip," Gale says, popping up beside me like he appeared out of thin air. We separated back at the beginning of orientation since he had to go fill out graduation paper work.

"Hey, Gale," I reply, pretending he didn't scare me.

He snatches the folded-up schedule out of my back pocket before I can react and flattens it on top of his own. I try to take it back from him, but he just pulls the tall card and holds the papers out of my reach. His eyes scan down the list, and a smirk pops up on his face when he reaches the middle of the page.

"Show choir," he grins, the hint of a laugh at the back of his throat.

I feel my cheeks heat up, and I angrily snatch my schedule out of his hands, stuffing it back in my pocket. "You've made fun of me enough. I'm questioning that decision as much as you are."

He grins and chuckles at my expense. "You could've just taken art."

"I can't draw a straight line to save my life," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. That's definitely not a lie, but it's not the entire reason why I stay in choir…

I don't hate singing. I just don't like the class, and I detest the dancing. But I like music.

In fact, singing and music are the two things that still contain peace in my life. Sure, I'm referring to alternative rock as my music of choice, but if I shut my eyes during choir concerts and disappear fast enough, I can imagine my father singing lullabies off in the distant memories of the farthest reaches of my mind.

You see, some things don't leave you.

For Gale, it's basketball. For me, it's music.

Gale seems to sense the change in me because he steers the conversation in another direction. "We have physics and study hall together, by the way," he comments.

"_Great," _I say. "Now I have to deal with you more than I usually do." I don't really mean it, though. Friends aren't my area of expertise, so it's probably good for me to have someone to at least talk to in my classes. Besides, it's been two years since I had a class with Gale, and I hardly think we had any fun at all during Computer Applications.

Gale laughs. "You're secretly happy, somewhere deep inside your sarcastic little body."

I roll my eyes, but he's managed to get me smiling.

We're almost to the front of the line, and group of girls who just got their picture taken walk by. They have perfectly tan legs, and perfectly skinny waists, and perfectly curled hair, and perfectly done makeup—just your typical perfect teenage girls. These are the types of girls whom I hate, and I'm almost appalled at Gale for watching them too long as they come near us.

The blond one in the front sends Gale a seductive wink and wiggles her fingers at him. "Hey, Gale," she says, bleached-white smile flashing.

Gale winks back. "Glim."

_Glim? _That must be the Glimmer ;) who texts Gale all the time. I feel frustration boil up inside of me. This is the only time in which I think of Gale as anything less than intelligent—when girls are involved. In the grand scheme of my life, Gale is better than any other average teenage guy, but when girls are involved… Gale goes through them like playing cards, it seems.

Suddenly, Gale's hand finds my back, and he gives me a little shove forward. Apparently, we've reached the front of the line. The school photographer points wordlessly for me to walk over to the duct taped X on the carpet in front of the big white screen.

"Take a pretty picture this year," Gale calls after me. "We don't want a repeat of last time."

I glance down at my shitty t-shirt and loosely braided hair combo, and I decide to accept the inevitable. I never take good pictures because (as Gale likes to put it) I have a bitchy resting face. And, apparently, a bitchy smiling face, too.

There's no chance for a good picture.

* * *

The little machine spits out my ID card, and I almost don't want to look at it. Gale saunters up behind me. "Did you take a good one?"

"Nope, it's cringe worthy."

He snatches it out of my hand before I can hide it in my pocket. He tries valiantly not to laugh but fails miserably. "God, Catnip, these things just do not do you justice."

"Well, let's just see how yours looks," I say, grabbing it out of the machine.

Of course Gale looks like a god as usual. Sometimes, I can totally see why all those girls follow him around and talk about him constantly. I just roll my eyes and throw the ID card back at him, unable to come up with a suitable comeback. We leave the room as a group of extremely tan people crowd the ID machine.

We are almost immediately intercepted by an old man wearing short green basketball shorts standing by the athletic/sports pass table. I recognize him from Gale's basketball games last year.

"Hey, coach," Gale says.

"Hello, Hawthorne," he says. "Getting ready for tryouts?"

"Of course."

"Now, who's this young lady?" he says, winking at me.

"Katniss," Gale introduces me. "She's my friend."

Gale's coach immediately reaches out and shakes my hand. I can already tell he's just one of those people- the kind that always shakes hands, remembers your name from the second he meets you, and will continue to address you like you're a close friend. Normally, these kind of people repel me, but I can tell that I like this guy.

"Now, Katniss," he says, "do you play basketball?"

"Oh god, no," I say. "I can't. I'm not…athletic." I think about adding that I'm not academic either, but I don't think that helps my case much.

"Come on," he says. "No one's bad at basketball."

"I am," I say. "Ask Gale."

"She can make a decent free throw," Gale says.

"Yeah, I can make a free throw about fifty percent of the time, but can I dribble a basketball?" I say. "No. Can I run? No."

"Are you coachable?" he asks.

"Trust me," I say, "if you are trying to recruit me, you should just stop now. You don't want me on the girls' basketball team. I'll just screw everyone else over."

"What about managing then?" He suggests. I start to laugh because I think he's joking, but I realize that he's serious. "We need someone to manage the men's varsity team."

Gale laughs. "Yeah, Catnip," he teases. "You should do it."

"Oh jeez," I say. I don't really know what to say to that. I can't just say, _No, that sounds terrible. Don't tell Gale, but I don't really like basketball_.

"You could spend more time with your _friend_," he was, winking again.

Great. Now I'm embarrassed. I'm probably beet red.

The coach lets out a deep laugh. "I can see I've put the young lady on the spot. Just think about, Katniss, okay? We really do need a manager."

He runs off, and Gale just laughs at me.

"Don't worry about Coach," Gale says. "He's a cool guy. He means well."

"But do you really want me to manage your team?" I say sarcastically. "I hardly know how to play."

"You wouldn't need to know how to play," Gale says. "Besides, it wouldn't be that bad to see you more often. It is my senior year."

I wonder just how emotional this conversation is about to get, but someone down the hallway catches Gale's attention. He leaves me in the middle of the hallway, and I'm afraid I'm going to have yet another mini breakdown in which I think about what it'll be like when Gale's in college.

"Katniss!"

I turn around and find the only person other than Gale that I really consider a friend.

"Hi, Madge," I say. She's just come out of the photo room, and she practically looks like a model. She's tan from whatever tropical location she and her rich family went to on vacation, and her blond curls are perfect as usual. But I can't hate her. She's just a quiet as I am, and she's not stupid like all the other girls. She has a secret love of rock music and dark poetry and likes food too much to be a rail-thin model.

We compare schedules, and I find that I have English and show choir with her this year. She's in all advanced classes, so normally, we are never together, but this year I foolishly signed up for honors English. At least, now I know someone I can cheat off of if it comes to that.

Peeta walks towards us and waves enthusiastically at me. I'm not sure why he's so happy to see me. We haven't exactly talked since like fifth grade, excluding his calculator help yesterday.

Thankfully, Gale snags me before I feel obligated to talk to Peeta. I suddenly find myself surrounded by most of Gale's basketball friends and then this one annoying but undeniably attractive swimmer with reddish hair.

By the time we leave, I have been thoroughly teased and three people have insinuated that Gale and I are dating.

You know, the usual.

* * *

My mom works late again, and I don't feel like actually making something for dinner, so Prim and I raid the fridge for something edible to eat. Prim, ever the sensible one, settles on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but I go straight for the gallon-sized rocky road ice cream tub that I find in the freezer.

I'd say starting another year of high school is reason enough to binge eat sugary foods to compensate for my depression (and, with that mindset, I'll weigh significantly more than I do now by the end of sophomore year).

Anyway, Prim goes to bed pretty early since she wants to be well-rested for her first day of sixth grade, which leaves me alone to wallow in my gluttony. I end up finishing off the ice cream tub while watching reruns of last season of the Bachelorette and thinking intermittently about how much I hate high school and how much I'm going to miss Gale when he graduates. I get slightly more depressed as the hours increase, and by the time midnight rolls around, I'm not happy at all for my alarm to go off tomorrow morning.

I crawl into bed at 12:30 am and pull the covers up to my shoulders.

That's when I hear the plate shatter upstairs. And then the yelling. And the flipping of furniture.

This happens often enough that I know I won't be getting much sleep for at least an hour, so I unplug my phone from its charger and pull up the first text conversation on my list.

_Gale, are you still up? _I type quickly.

It only takes him a couple seconds to respond. _Yeah. Is your mom home?_

That question seems to come up at least once in every single conversation that Gale and I have. Sometimes I think he's overly worried for our safety, but I can't say I don't appreciate it.

I consider lying, but I just send _Nope. She's out so late nowadays that I think she might be sleeping around with another guy. Or she's taken to drinking in bars instead of the comforts of her own home. _

I'm not sure why I turned our conversation in such a darkly hilarious direction, and I don't think Gale really knows how to respond because he doesn't send anything back for a long time.

Finally, I decide to just put him out of his misery. _Are you picking me up tomorrow?_

_Of course. I'll be there around 7:30, okay?_

_Awesome. I'll be waiting outside my apartment building with pepper spray and a backpack. _

I can almost see Gale grinning through the phone. _Are you ready for sophomore year?_

_Sure. I can't make any promises on good grades or conduct or anything… But yeah, I guess I'm ready. _

There's a pause. _My little Catnip's growing up. I'm so proud. _

For some reason, even though I know Gale's joking around, that response reminds me of my father, and I fall asleep with memories of him hanging onto my dreams.

And, unfortunately, I don't plug my phone back in before I drift off.

So sophomore year's going to be off to a rough start.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2: The Beginnings of a Sophomore Struggle_

* * *

One of the many perks of being friends with Gale is that he gets to park in the senior parking lot, which means that I, a lowly sophomore, only have to walk a couple yards to get into the school.

Gale is recognized by a swarm of seniors the second we get out of the car, and not a single one of them notices me.

"I'll see you in like thirty minutes in physics," I say, but I don't really think he hears me. He's already talking to all of his friends. I shrug it off and head into the school. It looks strangely clean and untouched. Just give it a couple weeks and there'll be vomit in the drinking fountains and the smell of illegal drugs wafting out of people's lockers.

I find my locker and empty one of my lined paper reams into it. All around me people are hugging and yelling and reuniting with friends that they haven't seen since before their cruise to the Bahamas or family vacation to Hawaii. They all look so happy and social. They all have their name-brand supplies, expensive phones with expensive cases, and new clothes. Their lockers are bejeweled and full of pictures of them and their friends.

What do I have? I have a backpack that's safety pinned shut, some notebooks, a pencil, and a calculator for my school supplies. My locker has zero personalization, and I have exactly one best friend, who's graduating this year.

I'm hit once again by a strong wave of self-pity and sadness.

I slam my locker shut and decide to head straight to my first period, despite the fact that it doesn't start for another fifteen minutes. I can claim myself a nice, back row seat and text Prim some happy first day messages.

I turn a corner, and I straight into someone else. The girl teeters on her designer heeled sandals and tackles me onto the floor. Immediately, at least four people rush forward to make sure this girl is okay, and I am left on the floor.

I get a good look at the girl, and I realize it's the one that talked to Gale. Glimmer.

"You made me break a nail," she says shrilly, waving her manicured hand at me.

"I'm…sorry?" I say.

"And I almost broke my phone," she says, gesturing wildly with her iPhone5.

"Maybe if you hadn't been texting when you turned the corner this wouldn't have happened," I says, hauling myself off the ground. A crowd had gathered now.

"Excuse me?" she says. "This is not my fault, you little whore."

"Yeah okay," I snap, "sorry I broke you nail. Go buy a new one or whatever. You _clearly_ always get what you want."

"What did you just say, you whore?"

"Can you stop calling me a whore? I don't think this situation has anything to do with my sexual proclivity," I say.

"You know what? Whatever," she says, throwing her long blond hair over her shoulder. Perhaps she was thrown off by the big word. "Let's go, guys." She and her large group of friends walk off, long hair swishing, hips swinging.

Peeta Mellark is, surprisingly, the first person to come up to me.

"Are you okay, Katniss?" he asks.

"Yeah, whatever," I say. "Thanks for asking."

I turn around and continue my walk to physics. Even after wasting those five minutes, I am still able to claim a seat in the back row of the classroom. Gale comes in just before the bell rings and takes the seat in front of me. I don't even care that he blocks my view of the board.

Mr. Shewry turns out to be a rather old man with a voice that sounds like an earthquake. He talks about physics like it's a religion and straight up tells us that this is going to be a difficult class. It's day one, and I'm already surrendering my good grade in this class.

As I'm leaving the room, my safety pins come undone, and everything falls out of my backpack.

If this is any indication of how this year is going to go, I am _screwed._

* * *

I stomp into English class and throw my stuff down at the desk in front of where Madge is sitting. My backpack is half dangling open, but I'm to the point of frustration that I can't even deal with it right now. I sit down in the seat and slam my palms down on Madge's desk, sucking in a deep breath that just fuels the rage inside me.

Madge pops one of her ear buds out of her ear. She smiles knowingly at me. "Rough morning?"

"I got called a whore twice," I reply, unable to think of what else to say.

"That's a lot," she replies, grinning at my frustration. She twirls her headphone cord around her finger absentmindedly, and I can distantly make out a badass guitar solo as the ear bud swings closer to me.

"I'm basically starting out the year on the same rumored-sex level as a prostitute," I comment.

Madge laughs, and several of the guys sitting a few rows away turn and look at Madge like she's a goddess. They're a bunch of nerdy guys, but they aren't bad looking. Madge is probably in all of the same try-hard classes as they are, and, from their perspective, she's probably the most wanted smart girl in the whole school.

They don't even know half of it, though. On the outside, Madge Undersee looks like a typical teenage girl right now. She's wearing a typical pair of short shorts and a patterned tank top. Her fluffy blond hair looks like magnificent waves of golden honey. She looks like the rich man's daughter that she is…

But that's not who she really is. There are only hints of the real Madge Undersee visible right now. First, the rock music. Second, chipped dark purple nail polish. Third, the smudge of black eyeliner that I just noticed around her eyes.

"I'll let you know how many phone numbers I get from creepy guys throughout the day," I say sarcastically. "I might beat my record from last year."

Madge laughs again, and I decide that the eyeliner actually makes her look really good.

"I'm liking the eyeliner," I comment. "You're actually dressing like yourself for once."

Her grin fades a little bit, and she looks down at her desk. "Thanks."

"But you'd better be careful or you won't be looking like the pretentious rich girl that you're supposed to act like," I add. "Your daddy might get concerned."

A little laugh escapes her lips. "That's truer than you know," she says. She's twirling the headphone again. "He tried three times to get me to wash the eyeliner off before he'd let me leave the house. I didn't, of course, but he put up a fight."

In a way, I feel bad for her, but I also envy the fact that her dad pays attention to little things like extra eyeliner. I could probably leave the house in sequined stripped uniform, and my mother wouldn't bat an eyelash. On a good morning, she might give me a questioning look and then go back to smoking or something, but on a bad morning, she wouldn't even be out of her room to see me leave.

The one minute bell rings, and a rush of students pours into the room. Right before the final bell rings, someone slips into the desk next to mine.

"Hey, Katniss," Peeta Mellark says, smiling quite genuinely. "Hey, Madge."

I barely manage a half-smile, but Madge, the dinner-party-trained-polite-daddy's-girl, gives him a little wave and a "Hey, Peeta." Besides, he lives right down the street from her, so she knows him pretty well.

He continues to look at both of us, smiling with steady happiness. I really want him to look away and leave us alone, but that doesn't seem like it's going to happen. His sunshine, smiley face is starting to burn my sullen cloud of self-pity.

"Are you going to have your usual welcome back to school party, Madge?" he asks.

I hear Madge let out a little sigh, but she keeps that fake smile plastered on her face. "Probably next weekend," she replies.

Madge is one of the least social people I know, but she feels obligated to throw big, trashy, high school parties because she's the richest girl in town. If she didn't, people would start to think she's a selfish snob (when, in actuality, she's just an introvert).

Peeta grins. "Awesome. It's always one of the best parties of the year!"

Madge gives a little grin that doesn't quite come across as excited, and we fall into an awkward silence. Luckily, Mrs. Ettinger starts taking attendance, so we have to shut up. Mrs. Ettinger is an older woman with a voice that's about as exciting as paint drying. She passes out a syllabus and proceeds to outline the entire year for us.

I stop paying attention after about two minutes, and I start to drift off until Madge urgently kicks my seat. I glance over my shoulder at her, and she gestures at her phone and then mine, which is visible in my open backpack. She's making her typical "Katniss-you-really-effed-this-one-up" face, so I quickly snatch my phone from my backpack.

Her text pops up immediately. It's a screenshot from someone's Twitter. Glimmer's Twitter.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath.

_Glimmer Redstone- glimredstone: _

_When little freshman whores ruin your first day #whyme #freshmansuck _

I let out a giant sigh.

Madge texts me _Let me guess… that little freshman whore was you_

_How did you guess?_

This is gonna be rough.

* * *

I already knew that Spanish was gonna be rough walking into it, but I didn't think it would be this bad.

Apparently we actually have to have class entirely in Spanish. And we have to ask questions in Spanish. And speak in Spanish. And write in Spanish. Completely.

I manage to understand Senora's introduction wherein she tells us that this classroom is a "No English Zone," but after that, I understand absolutely nothing.

* * *

I barely make it into Geography as the bell finishes ringing. I'm out of breath and probably sweating, and I'm guessing I look totally pathetic with my backpack hanging open and everything. I guess I didn't realize it was such a difficult and long trek from Spanish to here.

Mr. Raff throws a dry erase marker at me, and I barely catch it. "Get to your seat, soldier!" he shouts. For a second, I'm terrified because I'm afraid there aren't any seats left, but I see there's still one open: right in the back corner. I walk back towards the seat, and it's like I'm walking through a haze. There must be a flashing sign that all druggies need to congregate here because the guy in front of me is glassy-eyed and wearing a hoodie, and the girl next to me looks like a convict.

Mr. Raff, I assume, was in the army. He's a tall, buff dark-skinned man, and he's wearing carbo pants and tight camo shirt. He stands like a drill sergeant in the front of the room, feet apart, arms behind his back. He proceeds to lecture us on the importance of geography and goes off on a thirty minute tangent regarding the importance of terrain in military combat. With five minutes left in the period, he announces that he is going to the copy room and get us all maps of the world.

The room erupts with talking because it appears everyone else knows each other. I get ready to retreat into my shell like the pathetic turtle I am, and I retrieve my phone from my bag.

There's a text from my mom asking about my day, and I'm genuinely shocked.

There's also a text from Gale asking me if I've been called a faggot yet, and I'm about to respond when the girl next to me starts talking.

"You know Gale Hawthorne?"

Apparently, she's been looking at my phone. She's leaning back in her seat with her feet on her desk. She has spiky brown hair and wide-set eyes. She's wearing almost all black, and she looks like she could break me in half with one hand.

I'm so intimidated by her that I don't even yell at her for reading my texts.

"Yeah," I say quickly, turning off my phone. "I know him."

"Damn," she says, "that boy…" She licks her lips.

I look back down at my phone, wishing I could turn it back on without her staring at me.

"Are you lesbian?"

"Why are you asking me all these person questions?" I snap.

She raises an eyebrow. "Are you?"

"No," I say. "The text…was a joke."

"Okay," she says shrugging.

I put my phone and purposefully look away from her. I wish Mr. Raff would come back.

"I feel like I should ask you your name now that we know each other so well," she says.

"I'm Katniss."

"Are you a freshman?"

"Sophomore."

I don't ask for her name, but she says it anyway. "I'm Johanna Mason," she says, smiling condescendingly at me. "Senior. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah," I say.

"So back to the original question," Johanna says, depositing her feet on the ground and leaning towards me. "How do you know Gale?"

She phrases the question almost like she's accusing me something. Like she thinks Gale and I hooked up at a party or something.

"We've been friends for a while," I say. _Emphasis on friends_.

"Hm, you said your name was Katniss, right?"

"Yeah."

"I think I do know you then," she says, smirking. "He talks about you a lot."

"What?" I say. "Wait…how do you know him?"

"Same as you…" she says. "We've been _friends_ for a while."

The bell rings, and I get up from my seat as fast as I can. Johanna punches me in the arm as she leaves. "Always nice to make a new friend on the first day."

She winks at me, and then she's gone.

I just sigh and follow her out.

* * *

I respond to Gale as I'm walking to math.

_No…but I've been called a whore twice._

* * *

My phone dies before I make it to the lunch room.

That's sort of what I remember that I forgot to plug my phone in last night, so it was probably only 20% charged this morning…

I guess I don't get to text anyone to ask what lunch they have.

* * *

Luckily, I find Madge standing outside the lunchroom waiting for me. She's got her little designer lunch box in hand, and that's exactly what makes me remember that I don't have any lunch money.

"Shit," I say.

"That's a nice greeting," Madge replies, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Sorry, I just remembered something," I reply. I consider telling her that I don't have any source of lunch, but then I know she'll just whip out her wallet and take pity on me. And that's the last thing I want.

Most of the tables have already been claimed by the typical cliques, but Madge and I manage to find an empty table in a corner. Ironically, it puts us right next to Peeta Mellark and his table of honors students. He waves at both of us, and I let out a loud sigh. _Why am I suddenly seeing him everywhere?_

We sit down, and Madge looks across the table at me. "You don't have lunch, do you?" she says. She phrases it more like a statement than a question.

I open my mouth to reply, but someone taps me on the shoulder as they walk by. I'm about ready to bring out my sarcastic, bitchy side, but then the person's giant shadow passes me.

"Catnip, I put money in your lunch account on orientation day," Gale says casually. God only knows why he knows my account information, but I'm thankful nonetheless. "Go get lunch."

"You didn't have to do that," I shout as he heads off.

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I did. Now, get some lunch!"

Gale wanders over to the "popular" table where all of his friends sit. It's a mixture of jocks, hot guys, cheerleaders, and popular sluts. I hate thinking about Gale sitting with all those airheads and idiots, but it's hard to deny when it's right in front of me. The Gale that lives in my head is extremely smart, loyal, and good. But, for some reason, he shrugs that off at school and becomes the popular guy who gets all the girls and has a great time.

At least he's single right now. I tend to hate him more than usual when he has a girlfriend.

I scan the table to see his girlfriend options for this year, and my new arch-nemesis, Glimmer, is sitting less than two people away from Gale. She smiles at him all seductively as he sits down and leans forward a little so that her boobs are on full display. I fill up with a weird kind of rage, and then something strikes me on the chest.

Confused, I look down at my feet, where a paper plane has landed. That's when I realize that I've just been standing in the middle of the lunch room watching Gale for at least thirty seconds.

I blink a couple times, stoop down to pick up the paper airplane, and look around to see who threw it. Immediately, I find the culprit sitting at a lunch table less than five feet away: Johanna.

"Hi, little possible-lesbian," she says, wiggling her fingers at me. She's sitting with a bunch of people with dyed hair, drug rugs, and glazed expressions.

"Hi," I reply awkwardly.

"Were you checking out your boyfriend?" she asks, nodding towards Gale. "Or were you checking out possible girlfriend options? If it was the latter, I think Glimmer Redstone is a little out of your league."

My cheeks heat up with a blush, and I angrily toss the paper airplane back to her. "I'm not lesbian, and Gale is not my boyfriend."

"_Sure,"_ she replies. "Because Gale Hawthorne definitely has little friends that are girls."

I let out an aggressive sigh. "He does!"

She rolls her eyes. "It's fun to rile you up. I'll have to do it more often."

Frustration flares up inside me, and I have to actively detain myself. I let out a slow breath and turn on my heel, walking towards the lunch lines. Sometimes it's best to just remove myself from the situation.

"See you tomorrow, my little lesbian friend!" she shouts after me.

I resist the urge to flip her off. "Leave me alone!"

"You wish!"

You know, sophomore year is proving to be more difficult than freshman year. And that's saying something.

* * *

"Good first day so far?" Gale asks. He's walking in the same direction as me for our next class.

"Not particularly," I reply.

"I figured," he says, "especially after the last text you sent me. So…who called you a whore?"

An image flashes in my mind of Glimmer sitting two seats away from him at lunch. I think for a second that this would be a good time to destroy any possibility of a relationship between the two of them, but I can't make myself do it.

"Doesn't matter," I say.

Thankfully, he drops it, and my classroom appears on the right. The classroom is nearly empty. Normally, that would mean that I would head straight for the back, but this is math class. I sit right next to the teacher's desk because I am going to need all the help I can get.

Math and I aren't exactly friends. In fact, math and I are enemies. I have spent years struggling with it. I have even resorted to asking my mom for help at some points. Gale tried to tutor me last year, but that was a train wreck. Gale's one of those irritating people who has brains and beauty, and I have neither. Gale's remarkably patient with me, and I have patience for neither of us. Mostly, I think I'm the problem.

I have arrived so early to this class that I even beat the teacher.

I don't know anyone in here, so I send Prim several extremely unattractive Snapchats of myself. I even send one to Gale even though I know he's just going to screenshot it and use it as all kinds of blackmail.

Mr. McGann shows up to class just as the bell rings, and I am surprised to find that he's a rather young hipster-looking man. He's even wearing what looks like a hand knitted scarf.

"Hi, everyone," he says. "I'm Mr. McGann. You may call me Cinna."

I've never had a teacher ask to be called by their first name before, but whatever floats his boat. He could ask to be called Katniss, and I wouldn't mind as long as he was a good math teacher.

I find very quickly that his voice sounds like a heavily perfumed pillow, and I'm quickly drifting off. My short night is catching up with me. Despite the fact that it is absolutely necessary that I pay attention in math, my eyes trail away from the board to a colorful poster comparing hyperbolas and parabolas. My brain quietly tells me that I have no concept of what either of those are, and then I am gone.

* * *

"Hey there."

I snap awake. The classroom's empty now. Just me and Cinna. Obviously I slept through the bell. Great way to start off my year of math.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" I stutter. I try to wipe the drool from my face, but my hand's asleep, and it just flaps uselessly.

"What's your name?" Cinna asks calmly. He doesn't even seem mad.

"Katniss," I say.

"Well, Katniss," he says, "is there a reason you practically went into a coma during my class?"

"I didn't get much sleep," I say hurriedly. "And…math and I don't really get along."

"So you're one of the nonbelievers?" he teases.

"Sure," I say, smiling a little despite myself.

"Well, let's see if I can't change that," he says. He stands and walks over to his desk. He holds out a pass. "You can go to sixth period now."

Shoot. Sixth period. Show choir.

I almost cringe, but I just grab the pass and hurry out the door.

The minute bell rings when I'm barely five feet out the door. _Great,_ I think, _I'm going to be five minutes late on my first day. As if Mrs. Finkel needs more of a reason to hate me_.

* * *

I'm still disoriented from my nap, and my speed-walking makes me trip right in the middle of the hallway. I'm luckily the hallways' cleared out by now.

The bell rings, and I'm still face down on the ground.

I consider staying there but decided against it.

_Might as well face the Finkel wrath on the first day to get myself jazzed for the year._

* * *

I sprint to the choir room, take a whole thirty seconds to swallow my pride, and then shove the door open.

Mrs. Finkel, in all her cheery-voiced evil, is in the middle of her annual pep talk about how our show choirs always make it to the state competition but never win, so we need to be extra engaged, and blah, blah blah. She gives the same speech to every choir, every year.

"And that means this year, we are going to take everything to the next level and show the world our sparkles—"

The door shuts behind me, and Mrs. Finkel cuts off midsentence to turn on me, eyes blazing. She drops out of her super-pumped, cheerleader self and dissolves straight into her demon self.

"Miss Everdeen, why must you always insiston being late to _my _class?!" she barks. "It's because of people like you that we come in second place every year!"

I swallow awkwardly. Everyone in the entire room is staring at me, and it feels like their eyes are burning into my face. I'm already an outsider with my "bitchy and negative personality" and my "highly questionable fashion choices," and now everyone hates me because I'm apparently going to bring the team down.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, and for some reason, I say it kind of like a question.

"Do you even have an excuse?" Mrs. Finkel asks sharply. Under her breath, she adds, "I knew we shouldn't have let you into show choir."

I swallow audibly again and hold out my signed pass. "Um, Mr. McGann kept me after class."

This loosens the tension the room because lots of girls dissolve into giggles, whispering about how attractive and perfect Mr. McGann is.

But it doesn't impress Finkel very much. She snatches the pass out of my hands, holds it up to the light like she's testing it for forgery, and then tosses it onto her podium with disgust.

"I expect you to be punctual in the future, Miss Everdeen, and you will be held accountable for any rehearsal time missed," she says, trying to compose herself. She looks fixedly at the back wall of the choir room. "You may take your seat."

Luckily, the only empty seat in the room is next to Madge. I scurry up the risers and throw myself into the chair. Every eye in the room follows me as I go.

Mrs. Finkel starts up her speech again, and the attention is turned back to the front of the room.

"Dramatic entrance," Madge hisses out of the corner of her mouth.

I sigh.

She stifles a laugh.

"I will be assigning dancing partners soon, so you can spend time bonding with your partner. This is essential to the performance aspect of our routines," Finkel says, pacing across the front of the room. "Those lists will be up soon, but I do have our Sectional Leaders assigned. This year, your intermediaries between me and the choir will be Marvel Webster and Glimmer Redstone."

I almost fall straight out of my seat. Glimmer and Marvel stand up in the front of the room and wave to everyone in the back. Most people applaud because they love Glimmer, but I just want to punch her shiny, white teeth out of her mouth. When she finds my eyes in the back of the room, her smile turns steely, and she promises me my undoing.

* * *

At the end of class, Mrs. Finkel passes out a packet of forms. They include things like general information, schedule conflicts, and… drum roll… the uniform/tshirts/spirit wear form. I look down at the slaughterhouse that is the total cost due by the end of the year to cover all of these things. I swallow back revulsion.

Mrs. Finkel tells us that all of the forms are due on Friday (including a $50 check and _all _schedule conflicts unless we wish to incur grade deductions).

* * *

The bell finally rings, and I hurry by Mrs. Finkel and Glimmer, who are bent over the dance partner list.

All I hear before I'm out the door is, "_Oh, Mrs. Finkel, I have some great ideas for Katniss's partner!"_

* * *

Seventh period is study hall. With Gale. Thank god.

Another saving grace is that we're skipping seventh period today for an assembly or something.

Somehow, I manage to find Gale in the confusion of the crowded gym. He's up near the top of the bleachers next to all of his senior friends.

"Hey, Catnip," he says with an easy smile that quickly fades once he gets a good look at my face. "What's wrong?"

"Mostly everything," I say. I throw my backpack down, and the last safety pins falls out. I push whatever guy is sitting next to Gale down the bench and sit down in the small space between the two of them. The guy mutters, _What the hell?_ but I don't care, and thankfully, neither does Gale.

"Are you being dramatic?"

"No."

"What happened then?"

"I fell asleep during math."

"God, Katniss…you're hopeless in that class. You need all the help you can get."

"I know…my teacher promised to make me a believer or something."

"Do you have Cinna?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He doesn't offer any more senior wisdom than that.

"How's your day been?" I ask, assuming I should reciprocate.

"Good," he says. He gets his phone out and checks something. It's a text. I glance at the screen and catch the name: Glimmer. I automatically cringe.

Gale laughs and shakes his head, putting his phone away. "People are so dramatic," he says. "She keeps going on about this freshman that ruined her day."

"Oh," I say, fighting to keep my voice normal. I can't tell if I should feel guilty or if I should laugh.

Thankfully, I don't have to choose because Principal Snow taps his microphone, and the gym falls silent. Snow is just one of those people who demands your attention. I don't think anyone wants to imagine what would happen if someone tried to talk over him.

"Good afternoon, students," he says. "I trust your first day has gone well." He proceeds to give the speech that he gives every year. He welcomes the freshman, lays the ground rules, and begins discussing new things for the year, which is usually about as exciting as new tile for the girls' bathrooms.

But not this year.

"So we have an exciting event coming up," Snow says, and this catches everyone's attention. "Our school has been selected to participate in the Panem District Academic Brawl. This is a competition between schools in our area in which students compete in a variety of academic, athletic, and leadership challenges. Two students will be selected from each of the six study hall classes at a later date to compete against twelve students from our rival school."

The gym remains silent.

"I'm sure you're all wondering what you get out of it," he says with a cold smile. "Students will be eliminated each round of the competition. The winning student wins not only pride for their school but several state awards and extra funds and grants for the school. In addition, the winner will receive large amounts of scholarship money to the college of their choice."

This gets some whispers from the crowd, but Principal Snow raises his hand to silence us.

"More information will be provided within the week," he says. "Our representatives will be chosen at that time."

And with that, we're released from our assembly.

I walk out of the gym thinking about how terrible it would be to be picked as the school's representative. Like I don't need that kind of pressure on my shoulders. God knows what President Snow would do to the students that don't win.

For a second, I imagine Gale getting picked and getting his head hacked off by a kid from another school. I shake my head and laugh. There are so many kids at this school…what are the odds of anyone I know getting picked?

* * *

I basically use Gale as my human shield on the way out of the packed gym because he's tall and imposing so people get out of his way. If I was by myself, I'd be flattened on the shiny floor before I even got anywhere near the doors. Darius the janitor would have to come mop my squished carcass off the floor several hours later.

Somehow, by tailing Gale like a hopeless puppy, we manage to get to Gale's car within five minutes.

I throw myself in the passenger seat, aggressively buckle my seat belt, and then let out a long drawn out sigh.

Gale rolls his eyes and chuckles.

"Take me home so I can pretend to shoot myself to make my day better," I say darkly.

Gale laughs again and pulls out of the parking space. "Fine, Catnip. As you wish."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry that this chapter was slightly boring and lackluster. We just wanted to set up the main layout of Katniss's schedule/teachers/friends, so that we can get started on plot and whatnot! Hopefully the "Hunger Games" twist that we added will come off well *fingers crossed*. Anyway, let us know what you thought. I promise that the next chapter will be less regimented and more plot-driven! _


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